


Caretaker

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan discovers Montparnasse after he's beaten in a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caretaker

There was a level of finality to the event. He felt like he did after every fight, breathless and satisfied with the rush that it had brought him. This time, there was also a twinge of humiliation. He did not lose. Not normally. What had happened only moments ago was already a blur. He’d gotten in some good hits in. There had been blood, and not just his own. It was alright, though. He'd heal and so would his pride, so he didn't care.

He cared much more about the blood dripping from his nose and onto his new jacket.

He managed to sit up after a while, but he couldn’t open his eyes. It hurt too much. He would happily sit there as long as he needed to. He could hear his heart pounding, but not much else. Eventually, there was somebody near him. A shadow that passed, somebody who knelt beside him. Perhaps a stranger with a morbid curiosity. It might have been quite the sight. But then there was a light, muffled voice calling to him. A hand barely touching the side of his face. He flinched away instinctively and the person drew back, apprehensive, but they didn’t leave. Some amount of time must have passed and soon he was standing, he was walking. The presence stayed there and he caught glimpses of blond hair. Terrible, garish colors. Really, who the hell was this?

Once he’d regained a reasonable level of awareness, he was staring at a white ceiling. A hospital. The asshole took him to a hospital. He blinked and turned his head, learning quickly that he was wrong, and also that he still wasn’t alone.

The fragile looking young man smiled at him. Montparnasse knew him. His name was Jean Prouviare and he was one of Enjolras’ companions. And if that was the case, why was he here? Why was he smiling?

Jehan shook his head and said something about how he wasn’t sure what to do to help him, that he’d asked Joly, and he was still at a bit of a loss. He apologized, and Montparnasse couldn’t imagine what for. A warm washcloth dabbed under his nose, no doubt mopping up traces of blood. It was hard to understand why he was doing this and it was making him incredibly restless.

He immediately asked for his switchblade. It was his favorite, and he hated being unarmed.

Jehan’s lips parted a little bit, and his expression said everything. It’d been left behind. Lovely.

As tense as he was, as much as he wanted to leave, this wasn’t the absolute worst place to be. Jehan didn’t ask for anything in return. He had wonderful bedside manner, really. He was gentle and courteous and everything that Montparnasse didn’t deserve. Nobody in his company treated him with such kindness. Though, in truth, they did not exist to coddle one another. They were a machine, a unit. However loyal they were, it barely extended beyond business. They would have cared for Montparnasse to a degree, but they also would have teased him and insisted on revenge.

He couldn’t be bothered with talking about such things. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. It seemed so pointless.

The more time he spent with Jehan, the more endeared he became to him. He wasn’t sure if it was genuine appreciation for his concern, or if it was something else. He was innocent and begged to be corrupted, and god knew that he corrupted everything he touched. Montparnasse’s eyes began to linger a little too long, and Jehan eventually noticed. He smiled now and again and thanked him, already charming him. Only here did he wonder if it was actually superficial or if he was truly grateful. He leaned toward the former. He was not ignorant to his manipulative ways. He knew full well what he did to people.

He still ached. He would for a long time. He really had no concept of how long it’d been since the fight. Under the care of this sweet little thing, it didn’t matter.

Such a beautiful boy.


End file.
